


where soul meets body

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Domesticity, Falling In Love, Fluffy, M/M, Marriage, Meet-Cute, Unsafe Sex, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 23:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20983970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: Richie and Eddie meet in New York City. The year is twenty-eleven, Eddie is fresh off a divorce, and Richie’s taking a break from comedy to “find himself.”They fall in love.





	where soul meets body

**Author's Note:**

> this idea hit me and wouldn't leave me alone, and I'm really pleased with how it turned out! 
> 
> big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing as always!

**2011**

_He’s cute_, Richie thinks, chasing his nerves with three fingers of bourbon. 

He’s still new to this—_this_ being “accepting himself” and “going after what he wants” and “no longer being afraid”—and just the thought of approaching the man across the bar makes Richie feel kind of sick. In an exciting way, but sick nonetheless. He taps the bar, gets another couple fingers of bourbon in his glass, and downs those too. By the time his throat stops burning, Richie feels almost ready to go approach the other man. 

He’s about to stand up when someone shoulders up against the bar beside him and says, “Uh, hello? Excuse me? I’ve been trying to get served for fifteen fucking minutes here!” in an excruciatingly annoyed voice, and Richie forgets all about the man across the bar. 

Because this man, the one who’s still kind of elbowing Richie in the gut and who’s being blatantly ignored by the bartender, is _way_ prettier than the other man. He’s in some sort of clean-pressed polo shirt and a bomber jacket, jeans that look like they’ve been _ironed_, and his hair is crafted and styled artfully. Next to him, Richie feels like a certified slob. 

The man opens his mouth to yell again, but Richie leans in, bumping against him, to say, “Hey, Jackie, you help a guy out?” 

Richie may be new to this bar but he’d made friends with the bartender the second he came in. Jackie, an attractive butch woman with cropped short hair and tattoos covering her arms from wrist to shoulder, winks at Richie. 

“What can I get you boys?”

“I’ll take another bourbon,” Richie says, then tilts his head to the man beside him. “And whatever he’s having.”

The man looks at Richie, dumbfounded. “I didn’t ask for your help,” he says.

Richie arches an eyebrow. “Are you shitting me, dude? Do you want a drink or not?” 

The man purses his lips and looks back to Jackie. “Gin and tonic, please? Extra lime?”

“You got it.” And then she’s off, pouring Richie’s bourbon first before reaching for the gin. While she’s throwing the drink together, the man faces Richie again.

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“I never said I was paying for your drink,” Richie counters. “I just helped you get served.”

The lights in the bar are dim but that doesn’t keep Richie from seeing the blush spread across the man’s cheeks. “Oh.”

Richie laughs. “Yeah, _oh_. You’re kind of a presumptuous little shit, aren’t you?” 

Jackie slides the short, stout glass bubbling with tonic and topped with a lime wedge over to the other man. Before he can even fumble with his wallet, Richie leans in again to say, “Put ‘em both on my tab, alright?”

“Sure, Rich.” Jackie gives him a crooked grin before flitting off to serve some other thirty patrons. 

“You said you weren’t buying my drink!” 

“I never said I _wasn’t_ going to, either.”

The man’s mouth drops open. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You’re being awfully ungrateful to the guy who not only got you served but also bought your drink.” Richie sucks down a hefty mouthful of bourbon before holding out a hand. “Richie Tozier, at your service.” 

The man eyes Richie’s hand warily, but eventually brings his own hand up to shake. “Eddie. Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Something sparks in the back of Richie’s head, a niggling sense of familiarity. But he can’t quite place it, so he pushes it from his mind for now. 

“Thanks,” Eddie adds. “For the drink.”

Richie tilts his glass in acknowledgement. “Not a problem, my good sir,” he says in a southern drawl. 

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Are you doing an accent?”

Embarrassment burns in Richie’s gut for a second and he fumbles over a heavy tongue to say, “Uh, yeah. It’s a thing. That I do.”

Eddie stares at him for a second before he bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, that’s so stupid.” Despite his words, he doesn’t sound derisive. If anything, he sounds kind of _delighted_. 

“It’s totally stupid,” Richie agrees, feeling his nerves from earlier return. He’s not quite “down as much bourbon as possible” nervous, like he was when he considered approaching the stranger across the room. But he’s still nervous, and a little giddy, and a lot eager. “But it gets a laugh,” he says. 

Eddie lets out a last errant chuckle before quieting down. “Yeah, I guess it does.” 

Richie smiles. There’s a beat of silence—aside from the music thudding heavily overhead—and neither of them move. Richie eventually nods to the seat that Eddie is crammed up against. “You wanna sit?”

“Uh.” Eddie looks away from Richie, finally, and into the crowd. For a second, Richie’s heart feels like it’s dropping. Here’s the moment he’s always feared: rejection. He swallows nervously, and does it again when Eddie looks at him once more. “Sure, yeah. I’m here alone anyway.”

Putting on his southern affect again, Richie drawls, “What’s a boy like you doing in a place like this?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. He swivels on the chair to get situated and cups both hands around his gin and tonic. He thumbs at the condensation, drawing little circles. “I just got divorced.”

Richie swallows his bourbon wrong and nearly spills what’s left in his glass down the front of his shirt. “What?” 

Eddie groans. “I know, I know.” He knocks back a long sip of his drink before continuing. “I thought it was perfect, you know? She really understood my...my neuroses. And we got along fine, and neither of us wanted sex and that was fine too.”

“I can think of maybe why you never wanted to have sex with her, if you’re in _here_.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, not unkind. “There’s a lot of germs involved in sex, okay? It’s totally normal not to want that.”

Richie holds up a hand. “Alright, alright. Continue, please.”

Eddie glares at him, but keeps talking. “I dunno, I woke up a couple weeks ago—on my thirty-fifth birthday, actually—and just realized...I couldn’t do it anymore. I was living a lie, and that wasn’t fair to either of us. I didn’t want to do that anymore.”

Eddie downs the rest of his drink and Jackie is already coming back by to make another. He nods in thanks and steeples his fingers, twiddling his thumbs. 

“I moved out here from New York with nothing except three suitcases and whatever money I could get in cash. I’ll get the rest of the shit figured out, but I had to get out of there.” Eddie rests his chin on his hands and seems to stare off into the distance. 

Richie clears his throat. “That’s...that’s fucking rough, dude. Jesus shit, man.”

Eddie lets out a bark of a laugh. “Right? What a fucking mess.” He greedily takes the second gin and tonic when Jackie presents it. He drinks half in one go, only coughing a bit at the end. “I didn’t even think, “I’m going to find a gay bar,” because I’ve barely even thought about _being gay_, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“But it just felt right to come here, I have no idea why. I’ve never even been to LA before.” 

Richie chews the inside of his cheek for a second before saying, “Same. I just had this urge. And I’d heard about this bar before, but I’ve never...It’s my first night here too.”

“What a fucking pair we make, huh?” Eddie toys with the lime in his drink. “I have no idea why I’m spilling my guts to you.”

“It’s that good ol’ Tozier Charm,” Richie says proudly. “People love spilling their deep dark secrets to me.”

“That’s weird, man.” Eddie doesn’t seem put off by it, though. If anything, Richie could swear the other man is leaning closer. “Like, _really_ weird.”

Richie shrugs. “It usually works out in my favor,” he says, and he means like, in a blackmail kind of way, except his voice comes out a little husky and sharp and he watches as Eddie stiffens in his seat, but Richie just _knows_ it’s not in a bad way. Richie coughs. “Sorry, uh. That’s kind of forward.” 

“Yep,” Eddie says, sounding nervous. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here, then?”

“Already did. I was just drawn here.”

“Right, but _why_ were you being drawn _anywhere_? You’ve gotta have usual watering holes you go to or something.”

Eddie’s not wrong, Richie _does_ have other bars he frequents. Bars he loves, where the bartenders know him and his preferred bourbon and never leave him wanting for a refill. Bars where people buy him drinks just because he’s kind of a hotshot on the comedy scene. Richie even prefers to drink at home some nights, just laying around in pajamas and getting shit-faced in peace. 

“Earth to Richie,” Eddie says. “Did I lose you?”

“Never,” Richie replies instinctively, and he doesn’t know why he says it but it’s worth it for the blush that spreads over Eddie’s cheeks yet again. “No, sorry, I was just thinking…”

“Seems like it wasn’t going well,” Eddie teases.

“You’re a feisty little shit, aren’t you?” Richie says. “Do you wanna hear my story or not?”

Eddie hums, sipping at his drink. He pretends to think about it, which is ridiculous since he’s the one who _asked_. “Yeah, okay. Out with it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Richie mumbles. “I guess I just felt like I needed to find myself. I’m a stand-up comedian and some other hack writes my jokes, and I got sick of it. I don’t know what about myself needs to be “found,” but...just felt like the right thing to do.”

“So you’re not in comedy anymore?”

“I’m on a vacation,” Richie clarifies. “A temporary break. Comedy...it’s everything to me. I just wanna do it right.”

Eddie stares at him, something serious and contemplative in his big brown eyes. Richie feels dissected under that stare, but he kind of likes it. He swears Eddie is swaying closer still—or hell, maybe Richie is the one swaying closer to Eddie. 

“Hey, Richie?”

“Yeah, Eds?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “Don’t call me that,” he says abruptly. He switches quickly back into the same cautious tone as before to say, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Richie gulps. “I do, yeah.”

Eddie grins. “Awesome.” 

Richie gasps as he’s shoved up against his apartment door; he hasn’t even gotten his keys out of his jacket pocket, but Eddie’s stronger than he looks and as soon as Richie said, “This is mine,” it was like a switch had been flipped. Eddie’s mouth is on his, hot and hungry and eager. Richie’s got one hand in the back pocket of Eddie’s jeans and the

other is still rummaging in his jacket in a feeble attempt at getting his keys. Meanwhile Eddie’s hands are landing at the hem of Richie’s shirt, sliding under the cotton to run across his stomach.

“Jesus, Eddie,” Richie moans as the kiss breaks. “Let me get my keys. I can’t take another public indecency charge.”

That gets Eddie to pull back. “What the fuck,” he says flatly. 

“I’m joking, sheesh.” Richie mourns the loss of Eddie’s hands on his stomach but finally manages to dig his keys out. He whips around and fumbles to get his door open before they finally go stumbling inside. 

Eddie kicks the door shut behind them and shrugs out of his bomber jacket quicker than Richie can blink.

“Eager, much?” Richie asks, even as he peels off his own coat.

“I don’t know what it is,” Eddie confesses in a rush. He gets into Richie’s personal space again, and his breath smells like gin and lime, and his lips are flushed from kissing. “There’s just something about you.”

“Yeah,” Richie agrees hoarsely. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

Eddie’s face brightens with a grin. “Awesome,” he says before hauling Richie in by the collar of his shirt for another kiss.

From there, it’s a blur from Richie’s living room to his bedroom. It’s a whirlwind of shirts coming off and slamming against walls and tripping over each other’s feet until they’re finally toppling onto his bed, Richie weighed down by Eddie in his lap. 

Richie’s hands find Eddie’s bare hips with ease and admires the torso of the man above him: slightly chiseled, dusted with hair, pert nipples. He should feel more panicked, he thinks. Should feel more terrified given that he’s never kissed a man before, only dreamt of it. But it just feels right. 

“Stay with me,” Eddie says as he bends down for another kiss. It’s sloppy and messy. Eddie tangles both hands in Richie’s hair and tugs, wringing a moan from his lips. “Fuck, why does this feel so good?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Richie says. He stretches out an arm to cup Eddie’s ass over his jeans and haul him closer. Between them, their cocks brush, electric even through layers of underwear and pants. “Fuck, c’mon, I’m falling off the bed, get up for a second.”

Eddie groans but climbs off him, kneeling on the bed. Richie scrambles to sit up and shimmy out of his pants before settling on the bed, gesturing lewdly to his lap.

“You’re gross,” Eddie says even as he climbs back into Richie’s lap. “Why do I like you so much?”

“Tozier Charm,” Richie says before kissing Eddie. He works a hand between them as he licks into Eddie’s mouth and undoes the button and zipper of his jeans. His knuckles brush the heat of Eddie’s erection over his cotton briefs and Richie inhales sharply. “Fuck, I don’t have, like, supplies. I’ve got lube but that’s it.”

“That’s fine, that’s enough.” Eddie sits up and shoves his jeans and boxers down, letting his cock spring forward. He reaches for Richie and draws the waistband of his boxers down too, stroking a tentative hand over his length. “Christ, I should’ve bought condoms.”

“Next time.” Richie says against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie grins. “Yeah, okay. Next time.” He cups Richie’s jaw as they kiss again and again, slower now, as if the promise of next time has dimmed the urgency a bit. Eddie rolls his hips forward and their cocks brush, a brief and gentle thing that sends sparks racing down Richie’s spine.

“Fuck,” Richie groans. “Hang on.” He keeps Eddie steady with one hand on his waist and flings out the other to reach for his bedside table to dig around for the lube. He pops the cap with his thumb and Eddie holds out an expectant hand. Richie dribbles lube into his palm and watches Eddie spread it across his hand, awkward and unsure. 

“I’ve never done this before,” Eddie says as he brings his hand to Richie’s cock. 

“Just like jerkin’ yourself off,” Richie assures, even though he’s never given a handjob before either. 

Eddie blushes deeply. “Haven’t done that much, either.”

Richie groans. “We are absolutely talking about that later but if you don’t put your hand on me right now, I might die.”

Eddie laughs and finally curls his fingers around Richie’s dick. He strokes down and up once, slowly, then thumbs over the leaking slit. His eyes are trained on Richie’s cock like it’s some kind of puzzle, and Richie can’t look away from the concentration on Eddie’s face.

“Fuck, you’re cute,” Richie says. 

“Shut up,” Eddie says before leaning in for a kiss. His hand speeds up, twisting on the upstroke and squeezing when he reaches the base, and Richie’s hasn’t been this ready to come since he first figured out what masturbation was. “You feel good in my hand,” Eddie murmurs against his lips. “I want more.”

Richie chokes on his next moan. “You’re gonna kill me,” he gasps out, hips bucking up into Eddie’s grasp. The lube is abandoned beside them on the bed and Richie’s got both hands on Eddie’s hips. His nails are biting into his skin, leaving little red welts behind. “You feel good, too, Eds. You’re a natural.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Eddie says, squeezing Richie’s cock a little harder. 

Richie opens his mouth to deliver yet another pithy response but Eddie strokes him quick and sure and it’s like Richie’s a virgin again, because his orgasm is coming on so quick, he feels dizzy. He manages to choke out, “Gonna come,” before he’s splattering Eddie’s fingers and his own stomach with come.

Eddie strokes him through the aftershocks until Richie hisses, and only then does Eddie pull his hand away. He stares at it, and Richie stares at him.

“It doesn’t taste great,” Richie warns.

“You’ve tasted it?” Eddie asks. He sounds incredulous.

“My own, yeah.”

“That’s _disgusting_.” Even so, Eddie brings a single come-slick fingertip to his tongue. He recoils back from the taste almost immediately and wipes his hand on Richie’s chest. “That’s disgusting,” he repeats. 

“Told you,” Richie says with a laugh. He doesn’t even mind the come smeared over his chest hair, because Eddie looks bizarrely cute in his lap, flushed with pleasure and cock still hard. “Can I suck you off?” 

Eddie’s blush darkens. 

“If you want,” Richie adds. “I want to. But if you just want my hand, that’s fine too.” 

“Just your hand. For tonight.” 

Richie doesn’t press, doesn’t ask. He simply finally detaches his hands from Eddie’s hips to reach for the lube and slather up one hand. He looks at Eddie, who stares right back, as he wraps his hand around his cock.

The second Richie’s grip tightens, Eddie lets out a punched noise, like all the air’s been knocked out of him. His hips fuck into the tight circle of Richie’s fist almost immediately. His mouth drops open, lips full and pink, and he lets out perfect, wordless, tantalizing noises and Richie is fucking _hooked_. He’s been with girls before, and he’s dreamt of being with guys, but none of it compares to this.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Eds,” Richie murmurs, awed.

Eddie keens. His hands are scrambling along Richie’s shoulders, leaving red marks behind, and his hips are working fast to chase the friction.

Richie swallows. “You close?”

Eddie nods. His carefully styled hair has come loose from its hold and a couple stray strands are falling over his forehead, bouncing in time to his thrusts. “Fuck, Richie,” he moans, low and whining. 

“You sound amazing,” Richie breathes. He leans in and nips at Eddie’s jaw, then his earlobe, peppering kisses down his neck until he can pant against the man’s pulse. “You feel amazing, Eddie, like you fit perfect in my hand.”

Eddie rakes his nails down Richie’s back and clings to him as he comes, spurting onto Richie’s chest and fingers. Richie bites down on Eddie’s pulse point and sucks at the skin until it purples. He sits up to watch Eddie gasp for air. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Eddie says, still short of breath.

“You said it.” Richie brings his hand to his mouth and sucks a finger clean. It tastes the same as his come, really, but he finds he doesn’t mind it. Before he can lick the rest of his hand clean, Eddie’s catching him by the wrist with an unamused expression.

“Go wash your hands. In fact, go shower. You’re covered in come.”

“I want it on record that all of this come on me is _your_ fault.”

Eddie’s lips quirk into a grin. “I never said it wasn’t.”

“You’re such a turd,” Richie says. He reaches out his come-covered hand as if to touch Eddie’s face just to watch the other man rear backwards and go tumbling toward the foot of the bed, shrieking all the while. Totally worth it.

Later, when they’re showered and naked and under the covers together, Eddie pillowed slightly on Richie’s chest, Richie asks, “You up?”

“Am now,” Eddie says in a voice that’s not sleep-heavy at all. “What?”

“Where are you staying right now?”

“Some hotel on the outskirts of town. The cheapest place I could find that didn’t seem like a hotspot for murder.”

Richie grins at his ceiling. “Move in with me,” he says.

Eddie sits up immediately. It’s dark, but this close, Richie can see all the details of Eddie’s face. “What?!” 

“Move in with me,” Richie repeats. “Even if it’s just as friends, at first. I’ve got a spare room. Rent will be cheap if we split it.” Richie sits up a bit too. “I really like you. And I don’t know why, cuz I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, but I get the feeling I shouldn’t let this go. You don’t have to say yes, right now or ever. But think about it?”

“Yes.”

Richie nods. “Cool.” He settles back down, but Eddie doesn’t. “Uh…”

“Yes, I’ll move in with you,” Eddie clarifies. “I’ll take the guest room...for now.”

Richie beams. Eddie grins at him too, bright even in the dark of the room. That same sense of familiarity washes over Richie again, but he still can’t place it. Rather than dwell on it, he kisses Eddie instead. 

* * *

**2012**

“I need to get back into comedy,” Richie announces one day at breakfast.

Eddie looks away from the stove to where Richie sits at their dining room table that’s too big for the tiny little dining room in their apartment. “Okay, so do it.”

Richie huffs, but can’t help the rush of fondness for his boyfriend. “It’s not that easy.”

Eddie hums as he turns away, back to their food. He scoops eggs onto two plates, along with bacon and toast. He turns off the burners and brings the plates over to the table, sitting beside Richie close enough that their knees bump. “Why isn’t it that easy?” 

“I don’t write my own material.” Richie smothers his miserable admission with a bite of eggs that are hot enough to burn his tongue. “Ow, fuck, shit.”

Eddie passes him a glass of orange juice with a roll of his eyes. “Why don’t you write your own material?”

Richie gulps down the orange juice until his tongue no longer stings. “I’m shit at writing my own stuff. I’m a funny in the moment guy, and I’m great at reading a script, but I’m shit at writing anything for myself.”

This isn’t precisely a new conversation for them. They’ve talked about it a handful of times over the last year, same as they’ve tentatively broached the topic of Eddie’s divorce, which is still being finalized. It’s easier not to talk about these things, so they always get unanimously tabled. This one would’ve stayed tabled, but Richie is starting to feel antsy without the warmth of the spotlight. 

“Take classes?” Eddie suggests.

“I took classes in the nineties already.”

“That was the nineties, Richie. Things change. Maybe you’ll find something new.”

Richie considers this, then a thought strikes him. “Can I write about you?”

Eddie chokes on his bite of bacon and shoots Richie a glare. “What,” he asks flatly.

“C’mon,” Richie says. “It’d be great. I won’t say anything mean, promise.”

Eddie’s glare doesn’t relent. “You’re gonna say something mean.”

“No,” Richie says, loud and long, “No, no, no I won’t, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I hope you die,” Eddie agrees, but his glare is shifting to a grin. “Fine.”

“Yes!”

“Do you already have an idea?” 

“Nope,” Richie replies. “But it’ll come to me, I just know it.” He shoots Eddie a smile, wide and toothy.

“You’re so dumb,” Eddie says affectionately, and Richie knows he wants to marry this man.

* * *

**2013**

“Richie! Richie, wake up! Jesus Christ!”

Richie opens his eyes. His first thought is that his mouth is dry, his next is that his chest hurts. His third thought is that he’s never seen Eddie so terrified. “Eds,” he croaks. “What happened?” 

Eddie’s lower lip is trembling. “You were screaming.”

Richie feels a hot flush come over his face and bleed down his neck. “Oh, fuck, Eddie, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Eddie squeaks. “Why the fuck are you sorry?!” Eddie slaps at Richie’s chest. “You were screaming, and now you’re _apologizing_!?” 

Richie swallows nervously. “...Yes?” 

Eddie makes a weak noise, like a twig snapping in half. “God, what the fuck,” he mumbles. He leans forward and presses his forehead to Richie’s. “I was worried about you, asshole. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Eddie…” Slowly, Richie winds his arm around Eddie and pulls him close. Eddie fits against him like a missing puzzle piece, sinking against his chest and hiding his face in Richie’s neck. “Fuck, Eddie.”

“Don’t fucking say sorry again,” Eddie mumbles. 

“I get nightmares,” Richie explains instead. He speaks into Eddie’s bed-mussed hair. “Don’t remember them after, but they’re clearly…pretty fucked up.” 

Lips press against Richie’s neck. As Eddie speaks, his words vibrate Richie’s skin. “I was just so scared. I’ve never...You’ve never sounded like that before. I thought you were dying.”

Richie runs his hands along Eddie’s spine, tapping the faint feeling of the knobs along the way. “I didn’t want to scare you. I just haven’t had a nightmare in a while...I guess I forgot how bad they are.”

Eddie finally looks up. “It’s okay,” he says. He opens his mouth like he means to say more but nothing comes out. Eventually, he just leans in and kisses Richie, firmly and softly on the mouth. “I love you,” he says when their mouths are open and they’re breathing each other in. “I love you, Richie.”

Richie’s hands tighten around Eddie’s waist. Voice hoarse, wavering in a way it hasn’t since he first got on stage at Second City in Chicago, he says, “I love you too, Eds.”

Eddie kisses him again, deeper. It’s heated but not rushed, a promise of more in the morning maybe, because Richie’s eyes are drooping and Eddie’s heavy in that way that speaks to sleep already over taking his limbs. “Don’t call me that,” he whispers.

“Sure,” Richie lies. 

* * *

**2014**

“God!” Richie shouts. His voice sounds strange to his own ears. “I don’t know why you’re even with me, sometimes!”

Eddie is red in the face. “I don’t know either! You’re such a fucking asshole!” Eddie huffs loudly and turns away. “You’re never fucking home these days, and I fucking _hate_ your latest bit about me. You make me sound like such a fucking harpy.”

“I told you, I’m working on it! The bit’s out till it stops being shitty!” Richie runs his hands through his hair. His fingers get tangled in his curls and he yanks at them, letting the spikes of pain ground him. “And I’m home every fucking chance I can be, I’m _sorry_. I told you the tour was gonna be like this! And you agreed!”

“Turns out I don’t fucking like it!” Eddie hollers back, and then he’s storming out of the living room of the place they _just _bought together. Richie stares at where he was standing, and he stares at the doorway that leads into foyer, and eventually he walks into the hallway to stare at their front door that hangs slightly open. 

Richie swallows. He cautiously approaches the door and curls his hands around the polished word, pulling it open to reveal Eddie sitting on the porch steps. His crying is soft but impossible to miss. Richie pulls the door shut behind him as he slips onto the porch and sits beside Eddie. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes, until eventually Eddie holds out his hand. Richie takes it quick and links their fingers tight, almost tight enough for his nails to dig welts into Eddie’s hand. Richie hides his face in his free hand. His tears are tacky against his cheeks and under his fingertips.

“Fuck, Rich, I’m sorry,” Eddie says quietly. 

“I am too.”

“It’s just been...I hate you being gone. I miss you.”

Richie nods. “I know. I’m sorry I’m not home more.”

“Don’t apologize. This tour is important. It’s everything, right now. You’re finally doing something you want to do, and I should be supporting that.” 

“But you’re my fucking boyfriend, Eds. You mean more to me than the stupid tour. You mean more to me than my whole fucking career.” 

Eddie finally looks over at Richie, which he only knows because Eddie’s gaze has always felt especially heavy and distinct. Richie looks up, glasses sliding awkwardly down his nose, and he’s at least a little comforted to see Eddie smiling at him. 

“Richie,” Eddie says slowly. 

Richie sniffles. “Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“We’re gonna figure it out.”

Richie nods. “Yeah, of course we are.” It’s hardly the first fight they’ve had, and it won’t be the last, but they always get through it. “Hey Eds?”

“When are you gonna stop calling me that?”

“Never?” Richie asks, voice ticking up high at the end.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “What, Richie? What were you gonna say?”

“Look, this is probably a shitty time, but you already know I’m kind of a dipshit. I’ve got the ring up in our room, it’s in my fucking sock drawer in a vibrator box because I didn’t think you’d open it if you found it—?”

“Richie,” Eddie interrupts, though he doesn’t try hard. Richie continues easily.

“But, fuck, Eddie. Will you marry me? Or at least, like, think about marrying me?” 

“I fucking hate you,” Eddie says before he flings himself at Richie. 

* * *

**2015**

“You looked fucking beautiful out there,” Eddie says as he kisses Richie’s neck.

Richie shudders beneath him and his hands scramble across the slick silk of Eddie’s suit. “You’re one to talk,” he breathes, almost a moan. “C’mon, get this off, I’m dying to touch you.”

Eddie laughs, a bright and wonderful sound, and he sits back, caged between Richie’s spread legs. His suit is a soft lavender. He’d thought it was too girly, at first, but Richie can’t think of a better compliment to the slight pink in his cheeks and the deep brown of his eyes and hair. It’s a far cry from the deep teal of Richie’s own suit, which might not seem like it matches but works with the identical ivory shirts tying their outfits together.

Richie whines. “Holy shit, we’re married.”

Eddie grins. “Fuck yeah we are,” he says, and then he’s shrugging out of his jacket so quick Richie thinks it might tear. He hesitates for only a moment, entranced by watching Eddie undress, before Richie’s hurrying to catch up and throwing his clothes over the side of their bed, too. 

Tomorrow they leave for the honeymoon: the Caribbean, warm and sunny, and it’s going to be hell getting up so early when it’s already pretty late right now. They’d made some remarks about going straight to bed, but the minute they got into their house, neither of them had been able to keep their hands off each other. 

Eddie slips off the bed to dig the lube out of the bedside table and Richie shimmies out of his slacks, kicking them off the foot of the bed. When Eddie turns back to him, Richie spreads his legs, hands on his thighs in a way that’s meant to be enticing.

It works, if the way Eddie’s breathing catches is anything to go by. Eddie gets onto the bed quick enough. The headboard slams against the wall and Eddie nearly falls trying to get back between Richie’s legs. 

“I love you, _fuck_, I can’t believe we got married.”

Richie laughs and hooks a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck. “I can’t believe you actually married me,” he adds before his laughter is lost in another kiss.

Eddie kisses him wet and deep as a slick finger presses between Richie’s cheeks. Eddie wastes no time in pushing his finger in to the second knuckle, pulling out and pushing in deeper, again and again until Richie is sinking down the bed and writhing under him. “Christ,” Eddie breathes. “You’re perfect.”

“Fuck you,” Richie says in a trembling tone. “Hurry up and fuck me.” 

Eddie bites his bottom lip as he slides in a second finger a few moments later, and then a third. Richie shudders at the feeling of being full—though it’s not quite enough. He curls a leg around Eddie’s hip and urges him forward.

“Now, Eddie, please,” Richie pants. 

“I’m going, I’m going, Jesus fuck.” Eddie slips his fingers out and in no time replaces them with his cock, sliding in inch by inch and punching moans from Richie with each minute movement.

Richie’s hands find purchase on Eddie’s shoulders and he drags Eddie down into another kiss. “C’mon, hubbie,” he says, a taunt but not. “Fuck me.” 

“Jesus,” Eddie whines. He bottoms out and starts up a punishing, brutal pace. The bed creaks under their weight and the headboard slaps against the wall rhythmically, harmonizing with the sound of skin on skin. “Fuck, Richie, you take it so well.”

“_Fuck_, Eddie,” Richie moans. He gets a hand between them and on his cock. “Not gonna last, s’too good.” 

Eddie kisses him. “Wanna feel you,” he murmurs. 

Richie’s moaning hitches, a short stop before a loud wail as he comes abruptly. He slams his head back, glasses slipping off his face as come spurts over his stomach and chest. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eddie’s muttering, hips jackhammering in an uneven rhythm until he comes, deep inside Richie. He bows forward, back bending, and mouths along Richie’s collarbone, just inches away from splatters of come caught in his chest hair. “Fuck, Richie,” Eddie says, voice shaking, the last of his come spilling inside Richie. 

“That was so quick, it’s kind of embarrassing,” Richie says once their breathing has settled. He rubs his hands along Eddie’s back. 

“Your fault,” Eddie says as he lifts his head from sucking hickeys on Richie’s neck. “That _suit_.”

“_My_ fault?” Richie squawks. “_Your_ suit!” He counters loudly.

Eddie collapses against him, shaking with laughter. Richie holds him close. “Oh my god, you’re so fucking stupid.”

“And you’re the schmuck who married me,” Richie says fondly.

Eddie doesn’t look up at him as he says, “Yeah, yeah I sure am.” 

* * *

**2016**

“Eds, can you grab the phone?” Richie hollers, hunched over his laptop. He stares at the options listed before him: flights to New Orleans for his and Eddie’s anniversary. On the one hand they could skip first class, save some money, maybe add an extra day to their stay—or they splurge for first class, live in luxury for a bit...before living in more luxury at the resort Eddie picked out.

Richie looks up when he realizes the phone is still ringing. “Eds?” 

There’s no answer, so Richie rises from the couch. He bends to stretch out his back, listening to it pop and crackle in that way Eddie insists is fucking disgusting, but feels oh so good if you ask Richie. Shaking out a sudden chill in his hands, Richie meanders toward the kitchen where the landline—which they have only because Eddie is _paranoid—_is ringing off the hook.

Eddie stands in front of it but he doesn’t reach for the phone. Richie comes up behind him and winds his arms around Eddie’s waist, kissing the side of his neck gently. Eddie melts against him.

“The phone isn’t gonna bite you,” Richie mumbles against Eddie’s neck. He can feel the moment Eddie’s face shifts into a scowl, and Richie snickers. “Babe, seriously, what’s up?”

Eddie gulps. “I don’t know. I went to reach for the phone and it’s like…” Eddie holds a hand over his heart, fingers trembling. “This feeling in my chest. Like a full body chill.”

Richie thinks of the chill he felt in the living room. “Maybe the AC is fucking up,” he supplies.

Eddie shakes his head. In a whisper, he says, “I don’t think so, Rich.”

The phone finally stops ringing, but only a few seconds pass before Richie’s phone is vibrating in his pocket. 

“You gotta answer it,” Eddie says.

“You’re freaking me out,” Richie replies. He steps away from Eddie and digs his phone out of his pocket. He looks at the number he doesn’t recognize, with an area code that itches at the back of his thoughts, and he reads just below the number:

** _DERRY, MAINE_ **

He looks at Eddie, who stares back at him with his wide brown eyes.

Richie swallows. “It’s fine, Eds,” he says, aiming for levity. Aiming for a tried and true response of _don’t call me that_.

Eddie doesn’t say anything. Richie sighs and finally taps at his phone to accept the call. “Hello?”

_“Richie? Richie Tozier?”_

Richie’s mouth goes dry. “Mike?”

Eddie makes some kind of noise, wounded or terrified or shocked, but Richie barely hears it over the roar of blood rushing in his ears. 

_“You remember me?” _Mike Hanlon asks. The surprise is clear in his tone.

“Uh, yeah,” Richie laughs awkward. “How...How could I forget the Losers?” He asks as he looks at Eddie—

Eddie who used to wear stupid little shorts, even in high school. Eddie who broke his arm and replaced the S with V so it said _Lover _instead of _Loser_. Eddie who Richie was in love with right up until Eddie moved away the summer before their senior year, and he forgot all about Richie. Eddie who Richie forgot all about too, right up until they met in a bar five years ago. 

“Fuck,” Richie breathes when he realizes Mike’s been talking. “Hang on, talk to Eddie,” Richie says, ignoring Mike’s confused _“wait, Eddie’s there?!”_ before shoving the phone at his husband and rushing over to the sink to throw up his breakfast. Richie gags as a putrid combination of toast, eggs, and orange juice go splattering into their sink. He grips the edge of the marble countertop hard enough his hands ache. 

Once he stops heaving and is left with the rancid taste of bile in his mouth, he can hear Eddie speaking. 

“What do you mean, we have to come back?”

“Put him on speaker,” Richie croaks.

Eddie looks like he’s going to argue for a second before he complies. He holds the phone out in front of him, and Mike’s voice fills their kitchen.

_“It’s back. You need to come home. I’ve already called the others. I just have to call Stan after this.”_

“Back to Derry,” Richie says, flat, not a question.

Mike pauses. _“Yes. Back to Derry.”_

“Fuck,” Richie mutters again. He shoves his glasses aside to rub at his eyes, as if he rubs hard enough the scene before him might change. Spots dance in his eyes after he stops but the picture doesn’t change: Eddie is still standing in the kitchen, in loose jeans and one of Richie’s tees, holding Richie’s phone with a trembling hand. “Eds…” Richie says. His brain is already kicking into gear to go a mile a minute and think of an excuse.

“We’ll be there,” Eddie says. “See you, Mike.” And then he hangs up.

“We don’t have to go,” Richie says, taking a hesitant step forward. Eddie sets his phone on the counter and yanks his hand back like it burned him. “We, we don’t have to go. I don’t want to go.”

“You think I do?” Eddie says. 

When Richie is finally within arm’s reach again, he extends a hand to Eddie—

Who flinches back, then stares at Richie with surprised, teary eyes. Richie slowly lets his hand drop to his side again. Despite the ache in his chest, he can’t totally blame Eddie. It’s...it’s a lot. 

Richie takes a deep breath and says, “I’ll go book our flight to Derry.” He turns away from Eddie reluctantly, but he can’t keep looking at his husband. Eddie looks scared—not of Richie, exactly, but close. Richie can almost relate, except he wants to cling to Eddie and not let go until his heart stops beating so fast it hurts. 

It’s as if with every breath, another memory comes to Richie—the hammock, the clubhouse, the kissing bridge—

Richie swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. _The kissing bridge._

_“Let’s make a promise.”_

_Richie swings his legs, tap-tap-tapping them against the rickety wood of the kissing bridge. “A promise?”_

_Eddie whirls around to face him and nods seriously. “If neither of us are married by the time we’re thirty-nine, we’ll marry each other.”_

_Richie’s heart skips a beat. “What? Eds, where is this coming from?” After a second he adds, “And why thirty-nine, that’s so random.”_

_“Girls are stupid!” Eddie half-shouts as a reply. “And...And you’re not the _worst_ I could do, I guess. And thirty-nine because I want to be married before I’m forty but I don’t want to marry _you_ until I absolutely have to.”_

_“Eddie, c’mon. I’m probably the _best_ you can do.”_

_Eddie flips him off but his expression doesn’t change. “I’m serious, Richie.”_

_Richie hops off the kissing bridge fence, listening to it creak as it’s freed from his weight. At seventeen, Richie stands a gangly six-feet, and looms over Eds who still hasn’t broken five-seven yet. “Why would you wanna marry me?” He asks._

_Eddie’s cheeks flush pink. “Better you than no one.”_

_“Gee, Eds, you sure know how to make a man feel special.”_

_“Oh, shut up Trashmouth. Are you in or not?” _

_Richie looks down at Eddie, whose eyes are wide and shining and whose face is sweet and earnest. Richie swallows. “Yeah, I’m in. Single by thirty-nine, I’ll look you up and we’ll get hitched.”_

_“You say ‘look me up’ like we won’t be living down the street from each other,” Eddie says fondly._

_Richie’s heart skips a beat at the thought. “Yeah,” he says with a faint laugh. “My bad.” _

**Author's Note:**

> me, writing another fic where the kissing bridge is magic? more likely than you think.


End file.
